


To Speak Love and Loneliness Fluently

by agoodtuckering



Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartache, I just have a lot of feelings for these two and this story really needed to be written, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Randall has so much to say and Lix won't listen to a single word of it. Will she come around eventually?





	1. Falling into a River Without Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place as Randall and Lix have just begun to search for their daughter. They are (heartbreakingly and blissfully) unaware that she died so very long ago in a country so far away.
> 
> I should explain one thing: Something (original and completely my own) happened in the office. Lix was almost mugged on the way to the office. Lix and Randall are speaking together in the beginning of this story, presumably shortly after the incident. It's a small snippet, a conversation between the two of them behind closed doors. The scene was not from any episode.

_“Lix, wait.”_

Before she knew what was happening, he was making his way around his desk and tentatively stepping towards her. It was slow, deliberately so, and she had to resist the urge to fall on a memory from so, so long ago. _Madrid. Hot. Smoky. Him walking towards her and hesitatingly kissing her for the first time._ It all ached so much. It was too familiar.

“We should talk about this,” he said quietly. “That man could have hurt you.”

Picking herself up finally, both emotionally and physically, she quickly rushed for the door. It was then that he realized that comforting her, right now, was probably out of the question, so he stopped in his tracks and let out the softest of sighs.

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” he wondered aloud as her fingers grazed the copper doorknob, just before she left. It stopped her, though. It stopped her from going and that was all that mattered right then.

She had almost been robbed this morning, so very early in the morning in front of The Hour's front entrance, and Freddie had stopped the young man. The assailant had run off before anything could be done about it. She was safe, utterly, save for a little scratch on her face. 

_It could have been so much worse._

She chuckled low and amusedly for a fleeting moment before asking, “Have I ever given you reason, now, to make you assume that I don’t trust you? We’ve gone on this search together, to look for Sofia, haven’t we? What do you see when you look at me, Randall?”

He paused, as if the very question bewildered him, and his eyes fell on her. Raising a single, steely brow, he replied, “A woman who’s tired of hiding what she really feels about everything in the world. A woman who really does want her daughter back, even in some small way, just to meet her and get to know her. A woman who’s had a very trying morning and could _seriously_ do with a strong cup of coffee. I’m worried about you.”

Her brows furrowed and she stepped away from the door. “There’s more,” she said. She held her breath for a moment, trying to _look_ and _feel_ as brave as could be. “Look harder,” she tentatively urged him. “What else do you see?”

He didn’t quite know what she meant now, but it felt as if they were suddenly treading a very fine line. She’d worn that same expression. In Spain. _In Seville, Brunete, Gijon, Barcelona._ When the bombs had rained down and they struggled to help people to safety. She was so brave. They made angry, hot love those nights, beneath the stars or in small hotel rooms, furious with the Universe and with God himself, if he even existed, for ever letting them live and all the others die.

 _Life was too short not to tell the ones you loved what they meant to you,_ as their old friend, Matías, had once said. He was right. _But he died, too._

“Cat have your tongue?” she asked, at his sudden lack in response. The man who always had something to say was suddenly at a loss for words. _What a rarity._

He appeared to be quite stricken for a moment — _perhaps a touch embarrassed —_ and then dared to say, “Perhaps, I can’t bear to look any deeper, Lix.”

His eyes settled on his desk for a moment and he stilled his movements, tucking his hands into his pockets just to have _somewhere_ to put them. He couldn’t meet her gaze. The ache was too much to bear in that moment. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to hide it from his features. A heavy pause settled between them, the seconds ticking on by.

He began to fidget, of course, and he fixed his tie. Once, twice, _three times._ So methodical, so compulsive. Then, softly, he spoke again.

“We have to look deeply at things in order to see,” he told her slowly. “When a swimmer enjoys the clear water of the river, they should also be able to be the river.”

She reached up a petite hand to rub at her aching temple, all at once confused. _Why did he do this to her?_ “Randall,” she asked, “what in the hell does that even mean?”

He chuckled bitterly for a moment and began to rearrange the journals on his desktop before supplying, “You are the river and I am the swimmer. And I’m afraid to lose myself in you, and drown, if I dare to look too deeply again.” _It happened once before._ The words went without saying. She knew. _She knew._

A pair of incredulous eyes were watching him, studying him, and finally she huffed. Without a single word, perhaps out of fear, she turned and fled from his office. He was left all alone, with only the tick-tock-tick-tock of a nearby clock to keep him company. The clicking of the door as it shut felt like a gunshot wound to his very chest. _Rejection._ He’d tried and she rejected him.

“Just as well,” he murmured dourly to himself and turned away from the door.


	2. Carefully Treading Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall finds someone on his doorstep that he hadn't been expecting.

Later in the evening, at home, there came a knock at Randall’s door. _Odd._

He was, for the time being, living at a hotel close to The Hour’s headquarters. It seemed like the logical thing to do, until he could find a permanent residence. He _had_ been looking but work had been infinitely more important as of late.

He made his way to the door with a soft sigh. He didn’t even bother to look through the peephole before unlocking the door and tugging it open with an air of exhaustion.

What he found, though, utterly astonished him.

“Randall,” she said softly, in a way that painfully reminded him of days gone by, days in Madrid spent aching for one another. She almost, _almost_ reached to him but somehow managed to keep her hands to herself. She was no child, and she wouldn’t devolve to such behavior now.

After a moment of pure shock, he seemed to find his voice. “What are you doing here, Lix?”

Randall opened his door to let her come inside from the chilly, freezing hallway. With a moment’s hesitation, she wandered inside and closed the door behind herself.

“I thought perhaps we should talk,” she announced as she cast a look around his characteristically uncluttered home for the time being. Everything was so neat, not that she had expected to find anything less. “I thought that maybe it was about time,” she added a moment or so later. “What do you say? But I won’t apologize.”

He looked skeptical for a passing moment. After all but pouring his heart out to her previously in the day and having her flee from his office for doing so, he wasn’t so keen on doing so again.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m all of out of things to say. If you have something that you desperately need to get off your chest, by all means, don’t hold back. You never used to.”

The words stung her for a flash, an ache settling deep within her bones.

“Do you find peace in your solitude?” she asked suddenly, arching a single brow over at him. The question was sincere, though. It wasn’t meant to cause him any hurt.

He didn’t even know how to respond at first. He slipped a cigarette between his lips and slowly lit it, thoughtfully looking over at her as he forced himself to speak. “I think,” he said, “that I ought to. I’ve been alone for a long time now.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not running away now. Talk to me.”

With a sigh, he continued, “Since Madrid, I haven’t been with another. There was another woman, after you. _Claire._ I thought perhaps we’d marry. She said the alcohol was the problem. But it wasn’t. I’d kicked the habit. It was my quirks, my compulsive nature. It was all just too much for her. Some people are better off alone. I’m one of them.”

He paused for a drag off of his cigarette with a trembling hand. “Or maybe it was just you,” he told her, utterly open with her in a way he never had been. “No one has ever, or will ever match up to you, Alexis. Either way, the answer is yes. I do find peace in the solitude. But only because I suppose I must.”

Something caught in her throat. _Emotion,_ she supposed, upon reflection. She reached out with quivering fingertips to fetch a cigarette from her pack. She needed the distraction for her fingers right now. “Why are you telling me all of this now? About no one matching up to me?”

There was a nervous chuckle there in her throat as she spoke. He noticed it. _Of course he noticed it._

“Because you asked, without really asking,” he simply answered her. He closed the bit of distance between them to light her cigarette for her. Her hands were far too shaky to the job on their own. “And because I thought you should know.”

He slipped his lighter back into his pocket as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The smoke burned her nose, the back of her throat, but she found little comfort in the familiarity of it. It was more of a lifeline for her at the moment than anything else.

Out of the blue, he asked, “Why did you ask? Were you looking to compare notes on our own peaceful solitudes, or perhaps wonder how it felt and try your hand at it? … I don’t know what to make of you anymore, Lix. You’re lonely. I can see it in your eyes. You hide behind an air of mystique, cynicism, and flirtatiousness, but I can see behind it all. I don’t doubt that you’ve had a long string of lovers… Where are they now?”

She froze, eyes moving up to his features with a look of unguarded curiosity. There was a flash of anger there as well, to be judged so openly and easily. How did he know her so well? _How?_ Gone for twenty years, only to come back now, and already he could judge her in a way that left her completely naked. _She hated it._

There was something more, though, in her gaze. They were standing _far too close_ to each other, still, even after he’d offered her a light for her cigarette. _Far too close._

“Why?” she asked. “Haven’t you?”

Only after she asked the question, about him having a string of lovers, did it occur to her how utterly personal it was to ask one about lovers and love affairs gone wrong or perhaps even right, especially when they had been entangled once upon a time. He _had_ said there hadn’t been anyone since her, officially, but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t slept with anyone in twenty years, did it?

She merely swallowed and waited for an answer.

 _“No,”_ he replied softly.

At that, her eyebrows flew upwards. Had he been… _celibate_ since her? What a shame. _No one ever matched up,_ he’d said to her. Not for lack of trying or searching, though. The question hung unasked and unanswered between them, like the commingling smoke from their burning menthol cigarettes, until she finally spoke.

“Has it really been that long for you?” she asked bravely, wanting to know. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, nor wishing the answer to remain the same. Was his heart still hers?

“I couldn’t find a woman who could look past my idiosyncrasies.”

She felt too raw at his response, at the way his voice had lowered. Perhaps it had been a very bad idea to push him. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, apologetically. “That was rather rude of me to ask, wasn’t it? Forgive me, Randall.”

The look on his face was almost more than she could bear. “It’s all right,” he gently reassured her, hoping to make her feel less, well — _awkward_ on the subject, perhaps. Or guilty.

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Lix,” he said with a soft huff. It was as close as he would come to a laugh. She knew that all too well. “I’m really not the type of man who needs to be sleeping with someone to feel fulfilled in life.”

She laughed for a moment, utterly unable to quell the sound in her throat. Her eyes found his as she teased, _“You used to be.”_

His eyebrows flew skyward at her playful jest and he finally, _finally_ let out a husky, amused laugh. “Yes, well, people can change, can’t they? There are a lot of things that I used to be but no longer am. An alcoholic, for one.”

His chuckle had gone right to her head. She was practically swimming for a moment. She had relished the sound, as she had years ago, and finally came to the senses she had momentarily taken leave of.

With a sigh, she said, “I should probably be going. I have to be up early from a phone call from a contact in a different time-zone. Goodnight, Randall.”


	3. To Love Quieter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subtle yet significant changes take place for Lix and Randall. One only needs to read between the lines.

She came by his office two days later, altogether surprising him with her presence. 

“Randall,” she asked, “The weekend’s coming. I’m free tomorrow night. Would you like to, I don’t know, see a film on Saturday? At the theatre? Your choice, if you say yes.” Then, with a gentle smile, she added, “Dinner’s on you, though.”

His eyes rose from what he was reading —  _ an article, judging by the way he had the paper folded  _ — and he cast his gaze in her direction. He looked positively  _ befuddled  _ at the offer. She told him once that she’d  _ come so close  _ to asking him to see a musical in West End with her. Maybe she couldn’t bear to let a second chance go by, even if it was only the cinema. 

“Why?” he asked, suddenly. “Feeling lonely?”

She almost rolled her eyes at him. “Maybe. I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I?”

All he gave was an awkward nod, moving to place the newspaper aside and close his journal beside him. Once, twice,  _ three times.  _ She pretended not to notice, turning to go and gently closing his door behind her. Oh how he  _ loathed _ to have doors either slammed or left ajar. She hadn’t forgotten. 

The very next day was far from easy. Finished and unfinished articles and stories, notes, and memos were piled high upon the very corner of his desk, neatly but too overwhelming for his liking. He got to it all, though, before presenting time. 

The day was long, arduous, and all too busy. Randall found himself, more than once, drawn to Lix’s office for important matters that required both of their attentions. There was a new story to be worked on as well, something that was blooming and blossoming only in the worst of ways. He hated stories such as those. Terrorism, all in the false name of a religion that didn’t promote such hatred or violence.  _ Hate. War. Death.  _

_ Hate killed people, not guns and bombs. Hate bred war. Hate plagued the world. Hate killed women, children, and husbands. Hate. There was far too much of it in the world.  _

Their eyes seemed to linger too long every time they spoke to one another in the newsroom. Nothing was said about it. Everyone pretended not to notice. 

When they were alone later in the day, Bel asked, “Is everything okay between you and Mr. Brown?” There was a fresh cup of coffee in her petite hands and she was watching Lix with a curious expression. Curious and maybe, perhaps  _ knowing.  _

Lix almost chuckled but managed, despite all odds, to keep the traitorous, husky sound in her throat. “Everything’s just fine,” she told Bel with a half-smile, wondering what the girl  _ really  _ saw when she looked at the pair of them.  _ How did they look together?  _ She didn’t ask, though, of course. She knew better than to pry open that can of worms, so to speak. 

Bel, for a fleeting moment in time, grew serious. The grave expression slowly faded, however, into something much gentler. “If you say so,” she muttered quietly in response. “I just feel like something’s different and I can’t quite put my finger on it. You’re both making eyes at one another in a way that feels  _ familiar,  _ like you two were together in a past life, if you believe in that sort of thing. You never said how you met him.”

Lix laughed. “Listen, darling. I’m not going to say  _ now,  _ so you might as well just give up.”

They found themselves struck silent as Randall came around the corner. Like two rabbits caught in a pair of blinding headlights, they probably looked like. He sent a bewildered glance their way as he passed them by, not even slowing down to say hello. He was far too busy.

That evening, they left The Hour’s headquarters together, although they thought it best to spread out their departures to a few minutes. She stopped by the ladies’ to freshen up a bit. 

Not a half hour later they found themselves in the restaurant on the corner of the very same street as the cinema. Sat across from Randall with a tea cup in hand, Lix spoke up. “We have a few choices for films to see tonight.  _ Funny Face  _ looks marvelous. Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn. Or maybe _ An Affair To Remember.  _ I think Deborah Kerr’s in that with Cary Grant.”

He smiled subtly over his cup of tea and replied, “Those both sound fine. We could see  _ The Bridge Over The River Kwai, _ too. I’ve heard marvelous things about it. But if you want, I’ll endure a musical for you tonight.” 

He stretched his long legs beneath the table, narrowly avoiding accidentally kicking her, and sighed contentedly fo the first time in what truly felt like ages. He felt freed of stress.

“Tonight should be about pleasure,” she said, then quickly regretted her choice in words. For a writer, she certainly had a habit of making a fool of herself with words around him.  _ Shameful, wasn’t it? _ “Let’s relax,” she amended. “We should see something lighter. How about  _ Funny Face?  _ You may just leave the theatre wanting to dance with me.”

He let out a soft, amused laugh in response, something carefree, and she rather thought the expression on his face was beautiful. It suited him. He should be comfortable and relaxed more often. 

“I remember how you used to enjoy dancing,” he quipped in response. There was a twinkle in his eye that felt far too familiar. It made her ache inside.

She simply said, “I remember those days, too.”

He couldn’t help but notice the way she let her eyes wander over his face before she eventually dragged her eyes away and stared off in the distance. There was a change in her mood. He felt it, even as a little smile touched his lips. She looked more vulnerable like this.

Randall reached out to place his hand over hers and brush her fingers with his own. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered. He murmured tenderly, “Thank you for tonight. I just…  _ feel  _ as if I should say thank you.”

She appeared to be overcome with emotion in that instant. It surprised him, very much so, although he said nothing. She was, however, struck with a flash from the past:  _ them sat across from one another in a small café in Madrid, people speaking in a foreign tongue, one much easier to understand. Spanish. He sounded sexy speaking it, she thought. His hair was golden-brown, longer than it was now, and his eyes were bright and vibrant, full of life and fire and ambition. He looked at her like she was heaven on Earth. Little did she know they would be torn apart a year from then.  _

She could still remember it all now.  _ Every day. Every fight. Every photograph. _

“Are you alright?” he suddenly asked. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost. Not lost in your own memories, are you?” 

If only he really had known what he’d just asked of her. He was right on all accounts. Without thinking about it, she replied, “I suppose I was. Memories are just ghosts of the past, anyway.” She cast a long glance down at their hands. His fingers were so much longer than her own. He still wore his father’s wedding ring, she noticed as well.

If things had worked out, so long ago, that could have been his own wedding band. Perhaps she could have had one, too. His fingers were much thinner than she had remembered from when they were younger, so many years prior. Where had those twenty years gone? 

She ran a single finger across the golden band thoughtfully, admiring it in the subtlest of manners, and then drew away from him. She brought her cup of tea to her lips for another sip, sighing to herself thereafter.  _ What more was there to say?  _

“You haven’t changed all that much,” she suddenly told him, watching almost fondly as he fiddled the handle of his teacup. His Earl Grey was gone now, and perhaps her own had gone cold, but she didn’t care very much. They were here, relaxing and wasting time before their film at the theatre.

Her sudden exclamation had made his eyebrows fly upwards in surprise. “What? Yes I have. I’m an old man now,” he told her, both incredulous and yet amused. “Don’t be daft.”

Lix only laughed. “Maybe,” she tossed back in jest. “Lonely old man. I suppose that makes me an old woman now as well.”

A warm-hearted chuckle fell from his lips and he shook his head. He replied, “You’ll never be old to me. Not in my eyes. You’re still the young woman I knew in Madrid. You’re just…  _ wiser  _ now. And you’re settled somewhere.” After a moment’s contemplation, he added, “Instead of running towards the danger with your camera, now you run to your typewriter to  _ write  _ about it. You’re wiser, yes.  _ Smarter. _ Well-aged too, like a fine wine.” 

She arched a single, sassy eyebrow and repeated, “Well-aged? Darling, I’m  _ old.  _ Call it like it is. We’re both old now. We’re ancient, practically artifacts that belong together in a museum.” 

He was looking at her like she was anything but. It made her breath catch in her throat. With a windy, gusty sigh, he said, “Take the compliment, Lix.” 

She chuckled, long and low, husky, and eventually called over their waitress for the check. 

_ That was that.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter left.


End file.
